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He finds Wanda in the graveyard set, sitting on a fake headstone and rereading her script; he scuffs his feet in the fake dirt and draws her attention. She looks up, and when she sees him her eyes start to sparkle and she throws her head back laughing. “Vision!” she says, utterly delighted, “what did Darcy do to you, oh my god!”
Vision sighs, walking over to sit on the headstone next to hers. “I told her to go light on the make-up and fake blood,” he says. “She… had other ideas.”
Wanda has to put her hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter, tears in her eyes, every time she looks over at him sending fresh laughter spilling out of her. “God,” she wheezes out, “it’s just - it’s everywhere. You look like you just got murdered in a Tarantino movie!”
That’s exactly what he looks like, and exactly what he had been hoping to avoid; he’d gone into the make-up trailer with explicit instructions for Darcy to make something credibly realistic, and he’d come out looking like he was recently killed in a Game of Thrones -style showdown. Which, considering that they’re filming a horror movie, isn’t all that surprising, but Vision had simply hoped he’d be able to avoid the gallons of fake blood this time. At least it’s mostly on his face this time, and hopefully shouldn’t be too hard to wash off.
He supposes that he should have known better, anyways; this is their fourth movie of the series, and in every single one of them, Vision’s character has been killed off at the end. He’d known before signing on that Scarlet Witch IV: Victor’s Revenge wouldn’t end any differently. He’s just lucky that the fan appeal of his character - Count Victor, a vampire in love with immortal sorceress Magda, Wanda’s character - is strong enough that he keeps getting brought back through increasingly unlikely scenarios, mostly because he’s so well-liked as Magda’s main love interest; something about them being star-crossed and having “heart-stopping chemistry” according to one article he’d read recently after it was confirmed that he’d signed on for the fourth film.
“We’re an OTP,” Wanda loves to tell him frequently.
“I have no idea what that means,” he says every single time, mostly because he likes to make her laugh.
(He knows what an OTP is. He also knows, thanks to Darcy, that there is a rather staggering amount of fanfiction about their characters. He’s never been quite brave enough to go looking for it, though.)
“I can’t believe they’re killing you off again,” Wanda says, fondness laced through her words as she reaches out and brushes a drop of half-congealed fake blood away from his eye. Wanda, of course, is pretty much gore-free, though there’s an artful splattering of blood spilling down the side of her neck, and fake-dirt rubbed liberally through her curly hair. “Do you think Tony’ll finally let you stay dead?”
“Doubtful,” Vision sighs. Tony Stark, the director and creative genius behind the Scarlet Witch franchise who had taken a little known B-film series and turned it into a cult classic, has far too much fun writing Vision’s death scenes, and since they’re going to be filming movies four and five back-to-back with a possible sixth in the works, Vision very much doubts he’ll be let go. Not that he wants to be let go of, it’s just that he’d rather prefer to not have to die quite so often. The blood stains are a killer to get out of his hair. “I just hope it’s something a little less gory next time.”
Wanda smirks. “What, bashed to death by a villager's torch isn’t good enough, Count Victor?”
Vision winces. “I’m not sure if that’s better or worse than the time I was burned at the stake.”
Wanda smiles, eyes still sparkling with that mischief he loves so much. “Hey,” she says, voice pitched lower, sultry, in a way that never fails to make Vision’s heart race faster, “I can think of something that might make you feel better.”
Vision licks his lips, smearing the plasticky taste of the fake blood across his tongue. “We’re on set,” he says, a little breathless.
She shifts closer, and he widens his legs automatically so she can push between them, now on her feet as she stares down at him with dark, warm eyes. “Tony won’t be back from his lunch date with Pepper for at least half an hour, which gives us plenty of time to make good use of this very large, secluded, empty set.”
He puts his hands on her hips. “Does it now?”
She brushes her fingers down his chest where his billowy white shirt has a deep v cut, careful not to smear the flakes of fake blood dotting his neck as she slips her hand into his shirt. When her deft fingers tweak one of his nipples, he can’t hold back a whimper. “Wanda,” he says, voice raspy and hoarse, and Wanda makes a pleased sound before leaning down and kissing him.
It isn’t their best kiss, truth be told, not with the taste of fake blood and make-up lingering on each of their lips, but Vision forgets all about that when Wanda sucks on his tongue and moans when he nips at her bottom lip a second later. Wanda winds her fingers into his hair and tugs, and Vision pulls away from her mouth with a gasp, bearing his neck. Wanda’s lips ghost across his vulnerable throat, and he shivers. “‘Shall I kiss thee?’” she whispers, and if Vision weren’t so frightfully turned on, he’d probably laugh at her for quoting his own lines from Scarlet Witch II back at him. “‘Shall I kiss thee here, where I can taste your heart as it races beneath your sweet skin? Shall I bite thee, darling Magda, so that I may love you and ravish you and keep you forever?’”
Vision moans, tugging Wanda closer, gasping a little as she slides one thigh between his legs so they can grind together. He scrambles to remember Wanda’s lines from the scene. “‘I shall - I shall perish q-quite happily, if only that you may know that I have been yours since the moment I saw thou.’” His words stumble out of his mouth; if only the people who call him a well-articulated actor could see the way he forgets his own damn name around Wanda.
Wanda laughs, and kisses him again as she tweaks his other nipple, and Vision groans. “Nerd,” she teases.
“You started it,” he says breathlessly, and kisses her again before she can tease him anymore. It’s been seven months since they started seeing each other - after nearly five years of working together platonically and pining terribly - and still he isn’t used to being able to just kiss her whenever he wants. He always wants. He could live off of Wanda Maximoff’s kisses alone and be the happiest person alive. But right now… right now he wants to do a bit more than kissing.
Wanda seems to read his mind, because she pulls back after another minute of kissing and urges him to stand. “Here,” she says, and Vision happily lets her manhandle him onto the ground, his back pressed into the fake dirt. He’s already filthy, and besides - he’d be on his back in this dirt to film his death scene in an hour anyways. Besides, in this position, with their bodies obscured by the rows of fake headstones and the low lighting, even if someone walks in they’re almost certainly not going to see them here. He lays down, and watches with wide, worshipful eyes as Wanda shimmies off the lower half of her costume, a moan choking him up when he realizes that she’d neglected to put on underwear that morning.
She smirks as she straddles him, one hand braced on his chest and the other pulling his cock free from his tight black leather trousers. “Like what you see, baby?”
Vision shivers, thrusting into her hand. “I do,” he admits, “I love this costume.”
“Mm,” Wanda purrs, “yours is my favorite. Whoever decided to put you in leather pants is my fucking hero.”
He’s saved from answering when she sinks down onto him, his vision going white and his ears ringing a little as her wet heat engulfs him slowly until he’s buried inside of her.
“Fuck,” she pants, rocking her hips a little and making both of them swear profusely. “Fuck, how do you always feel so damn good? I swear you feel bigger every fucking time, ah!” Her voice breaks off into a shrill cry as he drops a hand between her legs and starts to rub her clit as quickly and ruthlessly as she’s riding him. When he bends his legs at the knee and thrusts upwards to meet her, she cries out again, and Vision has to bite his own cheek to keep from screaming her name and alerting the entire cast and crew.
“You feel good, too,” he gasps out, stomach swooping and bubbling and tightening with heat, every little movement of her body sending him closer to the edge. He rubs her clit faster, choking as she clenches down around him. “God, Wanda, you feel amazing, darling.”
She’s nearly bouncing now, both hands braced on his chest, her hair flying and her eyes half-feral as she starts to lose momentum, her orgasm creeping up on her in little flutters and tremors. “Viz,” she breathes out, “Vision!”
When she comes she takes him with her, and he throws his head back into the dirt and undoes all of Darcy’s hard work with the hair gel, his hips moving in unsteady thrusts as she squeezes him. He keeps his fingers on her clit, drawing out her pleasure until she’s hunched over him, keening, scrabbling at his chest with her nails as she keeps coming. “Fuck,” she sobs out, “oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.”
He’s pretty sure he’s seeing spots by the time she finally climbs off of him after they come down from it, careful not to ruin her costume in the dirt as she fumbles around for her pants with trembling arms, and Vision grabs her by the bicep as he sits up so he can pull her into a heady kiss. She melts into his arms, sighing as she winds her hands behind his neck and nuzzles him with her nose. “You’re amazing,” he says against her lips. “I love you.”
She squeezes him affectionately. “I love you too, Vision.”
Eventually, they get back up, and Vision scuffs his feet through the dirt where he was laying to hide the very obvious evidence as they push their costumes back into the right places. The overhead lights above them pop on just as Wanda is picking up her script again and they take their seats on adjacent headstones, looking for all the world like they’ve been innocently running lines. As Tony and the crew start making their way onto the set, Wanda looks up over the top of her script and grins at him. “‘And have I found you at last, Victor?’” she asks, the first line of their scene, meant to be spoken tearfully over his dying body. “‘Have I discovered thee only to watch thee perish?’”
“‘Aye,’” he says back. “‘Aye, my sorceress, you’ve found me, but thou must never fear that I may perish, for in your arms I know that I shall live eternally.’”